Surviving
by looneylizzie
Summary: (Book One of the Totally Expendable Series) – Heroes are forged in fire. Others face the refining flames and barely survive. Every hero has a story. But not every story has a hero.
1. Prologue

**So, I've been working on this story for the better part of six months, since I ordered all ten seasons of Stargate SG1 and all five seasons of Stargate Atlantis on DVD and started rewatching both series. I have no idea if there are any SG1/A fans out there who'll want to read this, but oh well. I like Billie too much to stop.**

 **This book is actually the first of five, as it is set in the background of all five seasons of SGA. I hadn't intended for this to be such a big project when I started out, but I quickly fell in love with Billie's character and her story, so of course I have to write it all.**

 **Anyway, welcome to the Totally Expendable Series, and I hope there are at least a few of you out there that will enjoy this story!**

 **And a HUGE thank you to 1917Farmgirl for helping me with... well, everything for this story!**

—

 _"What's a hero, if not for its journey?"_ — J. H. Wyman

—

There are a lot of truths that could be claimed as universal: change… love… hate… human stupidity… that the universe itself is infinite… It's really just a matter of opinion. Whatever floats your boat I guess.

For me, it's stories.

Humans are storytellers. It's practically written in our DNA. We tell stories to educate and to socialize. Stories can be forms of entertainment; ways of taking our minds off of the struggles we face on a daily basis. It's how we find purpose in our lives, because without purpose, we'd have no reason to live, no story to tell. What's more, our stories intertwine with others to become the more complex and permanent tales that we've come to call history. For as long as humanity has existed, so have stories. Maybe even longer.

There's a catch, of course. While everyone has a story to tell, no two stories are the same because no two individuals are the same. Each story is told from someone's perspective; there's a side to each story, and in each side, there's always one thing: a hero.

But I've never been a hero. I don't think I could ever be a hero.

Not that I've ever _wanted_ to be a hero. Not in the stereotypical sense anyway. I'm no Lieutenant Uhura, Princess Leia or Captain Janeway. And I'm _certainly_ no Wonder Woman. Heroes have everyone looking to them to save the day, the world, the universe, you name it. Who wants that kind of pressure?

Then you'd actually have to save the day/world/universe, which doesn't seem to be all that easy in the first place.

And of course, being a hero comes with a price. Their lives usually suck for the most part. They never get to be normal or just care about themselves or take the easy way out. Heroes can't be lazy and curl up in a chair with a big fluffy blanket and rewatch _Star Wars_ for the umpteenth time, because they've gotta figure out how to beat the bad guy or stop some impending doom.

So no, I'm no hero. And I'm no antihero, reluctant hero, romantic hero, superhero or tragic hero either. Sorry.

And before you get ahead of yourself, I'm definitely not a villain. Or bad guy… goon… minion… I'm not even a storm trooper. I can confidently say that I'm a fairly good person who makes good choices. At least I try to be.

And yes, I can actually hit a target, thank you very much. I'm a pretty good shot too.

So what am I then?

Well, I guess most would say that I'm just a normal, boring person with a relatively uneventful life. Cosmically speaking, of course. No one is going to remember my name hundreds of years after my death. I'll never be known for doing something extraordinary that changed the course of history, or discovering something that redefined the meaning of life as we know it. I'm just living my life and hoping I can survive whatever comes next.

Which happens to be deciding whether or not to join a special expedition to travel to another galaxy in search of The Lost City of Atlantis by using an alien device called the Stargate.

Yeah, definitely not normal. It's like it's straight out of a sci-fi show.

Which means that going would make me something else entirely: a redshirt.

I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous unless you're talking about _Star Trek_ , but I'm serious. Somehow, through sheer coincidence — or luck, depending on how you look at it — a woman named Dr. Elizabeth Weir knocked on my door and asked me to join an expedition to another galaxy that could very well end up being a one way trip.

But if I'm a redshirt, what exactly qualifies me for this special, once-in-a-lifetime adventure that could, in the best case change the future of the human race, in the worst kill us all? (Although, based on what I've heard about the SGC, there are certainly worse possibilities. Like destroying the galaxy. Maybe two. Or the whole universe. Depends on how badly someone screws up.)

Well, according to Dr. Weir, I happen to have three things that've put me on the short list for the Atlantis expedition:

1) A military background with a spotless record (which isn't hard if you keep your head down) and notes that praise my uncanny ability to follow orders (also not that hard, for me at least) — never mind one tiny detail; I've been a pilot my entire career. It doesn't seem like there'll be much flying on Atlantis, which makes me a pretty bad investment, really.

2) Security clearance. I already know about the Stargate Program, aliens, and the fact that I've been thrown into a science fiction tv show (metaphorically of course). How did I get clearance? Well, I have this talent for flying. Like, top-of-my-class, don't-even-have-to-try talent that got me into a special Air Force program because they needed people who could fly these F-302 fighters that were modified from alien spacecraft. Yes, _alien_ spacecraft.

And most importantly, 3) I happen to have an activated ancient gene that allows me to control the technology we're likely to find on Atlantis, a supposedly random characteristic that is so rare that Dr. Weir has been searching far and wide for people that have it. Bonus points if you already have clearance and know about the Stargate program.

Yup, that's right. I was chosen because of the same luck that got me into the Air Force in the first place, my God-given talent that has made it about as easy breathing to get as far as I have, and my DNA. It's done wonders for my self-confidence. I haven't worked for any of it. Not really.

Aren't you supposed to work really hard in order to get an opportunity like this?

And it's not like I have any special skills other than following orders and flying, so I'm not exactly sure I'd be all that useful anyway — at least half of the expedition are scientists, which means the military contingent is nothing more than the muscle to protect the brains. Glorified security guards. And totally expendable.

Basically, redshirts.

Maybe I'm generalizing. Maybe I'm just being pessimistic. Maybe I've watched too many episodes of _Star Trek_. Either way, I'm not exactly keen on being a redshirt, given how their stories usually end.

So why go?

No idea. But I get the feeling that I'm going to find out.

Even if I am totally expendable.


	2. Goodbye, Hello

**Alright, I know this is still sort of in prologue territory, but the next chapter Billie officially starts in with Rising, so you'll start to see some familiar faces! Let me know what you guys think!**

—

" _If you're brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello."_ — Paulo Coelho

—

July 11th 2004

It was a warm summer day when I left. A Sunday, which, in my opinion, was the best day of the week to wander around Harlem. It was late afternoon, and the street was buzzing with activity — as it always did, though I watched it all more carefully than before, hoping to commit as much of it to memory as possible while I waited for my father.

On the corner closest to me, in front of the deli, a couple of gypsy cab drivers leaned against their black sedans, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, ready to jump in their cars should a cop come by and notice that they were parked in a 'No Standing' zone. Next door, George sat playing dominoes on a foldable card table set up on the sidewalk in the even spaces between trees and parking meters with Mr. Cohen, Mr. Quincy and Mr. Knight. The four men, all in their sixties, talked loudly as they played, the only thing that could quiet them was the radio placed on the curb, when the announcer's voice took on new a sense of urgency as he commentated on the Yankees game in progress. His voice echoed up and down the narrow street as most of the block paused to listen; " _Sheffield hits a long drive deep into left field… that ball is going, going, gone! Another home run for the Yanks, and the score is 10 to 3 over the Tampa Bay Devil Rays._ "

Several cheers followed before everyone went back to their business. George yelled into his hole-in-the-wall pizza shop in Greek, updating his employees on the score, though his voice was quickly drowned out by the rhythmic thudding coming from the nearby grates, signaling a train passing underground. A blast of cool air hit my back as the door to the hair and nail salon that stood on the other side of my building opened, the sound of chattering women and blow dryers wafting to my ears as strongly as the air conditioning.

"Billie!" cried the woman who exited as she quickly engulfed me in a tight hug.

"April," I replied, squeezing her back.

"Are you leaving already?" she asked, pulling back to meet my eye. Her hair was pinned up in large curlers tucked under a hair net, and I knew she'd spotted me through the window.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm taking the absolute latest flight possible before I have to report for duty. I'll have to book it from the airport once I land in Colorado Springs."

She smiled, though it was a sad one. "We'll miss you."

I reached out and grasped her hand. "I'll miss you too." The familiar clang of our apartment building's door slamming shut drew my attention, and I turned to see my father emerging from the building, my Air Force issue pack slung over his shoulder.

"I've got cash for a cab. You ready, Billie?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Immediately I felt a lump form in my throat. I swallowed hard, refusing to cry. I'd cried plenty already. "Yep." I turned back to April. "Keep an eye on them for me?" I asked, nodding at my father and the building.

"Of course. You'll keep in touch?" she asked as she drew me in for another hug.

"I don't know how often I'll be able to, but I will as soon as I can."

"Be safe, Billie. And be brave." With that, April withdrew, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to the salon. I spotted her wipe a tear from her eye as she went, and I coughed, hoping to push back my own. My father slid an arm around my shoulder, squeezing it tightly as we walked towards the cabs on the corner. As we walked a chorus of goodbyes and good lucks were directed at me by my neighbors, and I simply smiled in thanks. This wasn't the first time I'd left, and for all they knew, I was going to come back in a year, just as safe and sound as I had this time, and the time before that. But this time was different — this time I was going on a mission that was potentially a one-way trip. That knowledge was what made leaving so much harder than it had when I'd first left for boot camp.

"Dad," I started, looking up at him. "You know this could be a one-way trip. I— I'm— If I—" I stuttered, trying to find the words that would convey everything I was feeling… everything I wanted him to know.

"I know," he said with a smile, squeezing my shoulders. "And you'll be just fine, I know it." His confidence surprised me, and I raised an eyebrow.

"You do?"

"Absolutely. You'll be back."

I eyed him suspiciously. "And what makes you think that?"

He looked down at me, his expression fierce and his tone serious. "Because God built you to last, Billie Simmons, and don't you forget it."

I didn't know how to reply to that. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't believe him.

000000000000000000000000000

Billie sighed and un-clicked her pen, hooking it onto the spiral rings of her new purple notebook before shutting it. She pulled out a small white envelope from the front pocket of the pack sitting at her feet and opened it. Inside were four photographs and a letter, and as she looked them over her lips formed a wistful smile for just a second before she stuffed them back in the envelope and slipped it between the pages of the notebook.

She stared at the cover and inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. "You can do this," she muttered under her breath.

" _Final boarding call for all passengers on flight 1278 to Colorado Springs. Final call for all passengers,_ " piped through the loudspeakers, causing Billie to look up.

She quickly tucked the notebook back into her pack and in a single movement swung it over her shoulder as she stood up. She headed for the gate and pulled her ticket out of her pocket, handing it to the attendant, smiling and nodding as she was ushered onto the plane. In less than a minute, she was in seat 33A, staring out the window with a perfect view of downtown. The skyscrapers loomed over her, even from a distance, and she smiled at the familiarity of it. The sun was setting, and its warm light was shining in the slivers of space between the buildings, making the whole city look like it was the hot, glowing wood of a bonfire.

Billie kept her nose to the glass, entranced as the plane began to move, ignoring the announcements and safety demonstrations by the sickeningly cheerful flight attendants. Slowly, it taxied into position, and then, with the demonstration over and the attendants strapped in, the plane began to rumble and move with a new kind of energy. Billie's heart leapt as the plane surged forward, picking up speed and finally lifting off, rising up, up, up into the sky, cloudless and awash in color — shades of golds, reds, pinks and purples tinting the view of the city below.

As the plane rose, she tried to spot the familiar landmarks, but she could only vaguely guess which neighborhoods they were racing over as they increased in altitude. Then she saw it; there — Central Park, and just north of it, that was it. That was home. Harlem.

"Goodbye," Billie whispered.

"Hello," a voice to her right said cheerfully.

Billie whipped around, discovering that the passenger in the center seat was smirking at her. With a start, she realized that the young man was, like her, dressed in camouflage BDUs. "Oh, hello," she replied a little awkwardly.

Without hesitating he stuck out a hand for her to shake. "First Lieutenant Aiden Ford, Marine Corps."

Uncertainly, Billie shook his hand and returned a small smile. "Second Lieutenant Billie Simmons, Air Force."


	3. Into the Unknown

**Hey guys! I wasn't planning on updating before I got chapter 4 done, but I decided to post a little early… because it's my birthday (and the 20 year anniversary of SG1)! :D Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this, and be sure to let me know what you think!**

—

" _In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors." — William Blake_

—

By the time we'd landed in Colorado Springs, Lieutenant Ford and I had dropped enough hints to know that we were going to the same place. Of course, we weren't allowed to talk about it directly, given that the whole thing was top secret, but it was simple enough to figure out.

Ford was surprisingly easy to get along with, for a jarhead. He didn't seem to have the same hard-core intensity that a lot of Marines did. Instead, he was more like an excited puppy; raring to go and ready for adventure. His pure enthusiasm was contagious, and when we arrived at Cheyenne Mountain I was almost as enthusiastic as he was.

But that enthusiasm faded quickly. It wasn't something I could keep up during the next five days of briefings and packing at the SGC we had to endure in preparation for leaving. We went over everything, from gate protocols and procedures to a crash course in Ancient history (literally) and technology.

Throughout all of it, I learned three things; first, that the scientists didn't like the military. Second, that most of the military didn't like the scientists. Third, that I was the only female member of the military contingent on the expedition.

Fun.

So far in my time in the Air Force my gender hadn't been much of a barrier, surprisingly. And luckily.

But that was me: 'Lady Luck' had been my call sign when I was flying F-302s for a reason.

Nevertheless, I got the feeling that some of my fellow soldiers weren't thrilled with my presence. I'd been nervous about it when I met Colonel Sumner, our Commanding Officer. He'd been rather stand-offish and I couldn't get a good read on him. It wasn't until I asked Ford if he knew anything about the Colonel — apparently he was alright, so long as you followed orders and respected the chain of command — that I relaxed.

I could follow orders. That was easy. I liked following orders.

Apparently Ford had worked with Colonel Sumner before. Sumner had trained him when he was first assigned to the SGC, and given that I seemed to have found a friend in Lieutenant Ford, I figured that I'd be alright as long as I kept my head down and worked hard.

And, y'know, didn't die.

Finally, we were ready. Everyone had arrived and nearly everything was packed up and ready to go on what could potentially be the greatest expedition in human history.

So, no pressure, right?

 **000000000000000000000**

The gate room was chaos.

Of course, that shouldn't have been much of a surprise, given that 122 doctors, scientists, technicians, soldiers (a good portion of which were speaking in at least a dozen different languages) and their personal belongings, plus at least six months of food, supplies, all sorts of medical and scientific equipment as well as an arsenal's worth of ordnance were about to step through the Stargate and into another galaxy.

I tried not to stare as I entered the room, making for the back wall only to trip over someone, nearly falling onto the undoubtedly very expensive and very valuable piece of equipment he was inspecting. "Oh! I'm sorry!" I exclaimed once I'd regained my balance.

The man — undoubtedly a doctor — looked up for a brief second and smiled. "Not to worry, I'm nearly done here," he said, quickly returning to the task at hand. I continued on to the tiniest piece of free space against the back wall that was as out of the way as possible and dumped by pack and gear on the floor before squatting down to do one last inspection. I'd probably done at least five already, but I didn't want to take any chances.

"Doctor Beckett, I thought I told you to leave this stuff alone," a gruff voice said, and I looked up to see a Marine — Sergeant Bates, if I remembered correctly — standing over the doctor with an annoyed look on his face.

The doctor looked up. "Listen, I just need a couple of minutes to finish my work, and you're not helping by standing there," he said with a distinct accent. Irish? Or Scottish, maybe?

Bates huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "No, doctor, you've got to pack this up. Now." He nudged the box of equipment with his boot; gently enough not to cause any damage or move it very far, but the movement was distinct enough to send a very clear message.

"Hey!" Beckett cried, beginning to stand up. "What d'you think-"

Colonel Sumner came down the ramp that led up to the gate, his face stern as he narrowed his eyes at Beckett. "Everything in here has been double-checked and triple-checked and cleared for takeoff. Leave it alone," he said, hand resting on the weapon clipped to his vest as Bates came to attention.

Beckett turned to Sumner with a defiant, yet somehow sincere expression. "Look, Colonel, I don't answer to you."

"He said the same to me, sir," Bates butted in before the Colonel could speak, glaring at Beckett.

Sumner turned to Bates, and I was fairly certain that the stern look on his face was likely plastered there from years of experience, judging by the dark gleam in his eye I'd caught during one of the briefings earlier.

Or maybe he wasn't hugged enough as a kid. The jury was still out.

"That's what your sidearm's for."

I couldn't help but wince, and immediately looked back down at my pack, hoping that the Colonel hadn't seen it.

I wasn't entirely sure what to think of scientists myself, but I wasn't the biggest fan of the Colonel's attitude either. As I watched him make his way around the gate room out of the corner of my eye, it felt as though he was a kindergarten teacher walking around a classroom, chastising the students for misbehaving and correcting them when they stepped out of line, resorting to brute force whenever possible.

But at the same time, I understood why he was doing it. Everything was in chaos, and we were about to step into the unknown with no _real_ way to prepare. It was only natural for the man entrusted with the security of the expedition to want everything squared away before we walked into any surprises the Pegasus galaxy may throw at us.

Clearly, he was an excellent Marine. There was no doubt that he was good at his job, but it was hard to respect a man who didn't respect others in such situations. Especially scientists. They were the brains to our brawn. It was better to work together than apart.

I shook my head and turned back to my things. There was nothing I could do about it without being insubordinate, so I went to work.

 **000000000000000000000**

Once I'd quickly finished the final check of my pack, I stood and began gearing up. I had my tac vest halfway on before I heard a loud "Watch it!" over my shoulder just a second before someone grabbed my elbow and yanked me to the side just as a tall black tower of plastic wrapped equipment rolled past, pushed by a small man with wild, Albert Einstein-esque hair and round glasses as he muttered something in another language under his breath. I watched him until he had the tower safely parked next to another one in the corner before turning around to thank the person who'd grabbed me.

"Sorry about that," the man said with a charming British accent. "But you were about to be run over."

I felt my cheeks warm. Nice one Billie. Nothing like nearly getting killed before you even stepped through the gate.

"Thanks," I managed, thankfully without stuttering or following up with a 'knight in shining armor' joke.

Although he certainly looked the part. He was a good six inches taller than me (not a difficult feat, as I barely reached five foot four), with carefully styled dark hair, a strong jawline, warm brown eyes and the obvious mannerisms of a complete gentleman.

In short, he looked perfect. _Too_ perfect.

He smiled, showing off a full set of pearly whites. Great. Even his teeth were perfect.

"You're welcome…" he trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

I blinked, as it took me a second to realize what he was asking. "Oh! I'm Simmons. I mean, Lieutenant Simmons."

"Peter Grodin," he said, reaching out a hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Before I could come up with a response, I heard a voice calling for attention, looking up and spotting Dr. Weir climbing up onto the ramp in front of the Stargate. With a quick nod to Grodin, I shifted over to the side, where Sumner and a handful of other Marines were gathered, including the other two members of security team four — Sergeant Smith and Corporal Cutshall — to which I'd been assigned by Sumner in our final briefing.

I nodded to the two marines I barely knew. Smith was tall and built like a linebacker… or, well, a marine. His severe military haircut accentuated the sharp angles of his jawline and cheekbones and he had a long, jagged scar that ran from his left eyebrow to his right ear, trailing across his nose that had likely been large and beak-like at one time, but was now squashed and bent at an odd angle, as though it had been broken. Multiple times.

From what I'd heard, he'd been a Navy SEAL before joining the SGC, which I could easily believe based on the way he set his shoulders and held his head up high. Plus, his biceps had to be at least as big as my head. If there was a stereotypical picture of what a marine was supposed to look like, Smith certainly fit the bill, with the exception of the scar.

There had to be an interesting story behind that one.

Cutshall, while not as large and intimidating as Smith, still managed to make me feel like a small child standing next to him. His features were also softer than Smith's, with the exception of his rather large ears, highlighted by his shaved head and cap — which didn't seem to sit on his head quite as neatly as it did on Sumner or Ford. From the way he readjusted it as he nodded back to me, it wasn't from lack of trying.

It was the frown that seemed permanently plastered on his lips that made him seem as serious and as grim as I felt. The downturn of the corners of his lips could easily give Sumner's a run for his money.

Based on the number of SGC personnel that had greeted him by name the one time we shared a table one morning during breakfast (not speaking other than the obligatory pleasantries), Cutshall was an old hand around Cheyenne Mountain. It made me wonder why he'd agreed to join the expedition.

But there was no time for personal questions, no 'get to know you' games to play. Perhaps we could do that later, on Atlantis.

Besides, what better way to get to know someone than to be thrown into a life or death situation?

I shoved the thought to the side and turned my attention to Dr. Weir. "We're about to try to make a connection," she said, her voice strong and confident as it filled the quieted gate room. "We have been unable to predict exactly how much power this is going to take, and we may only get the one chance at this. So if we're able to achieve a stable wormhole-"

I looked up at the Stargate behind her, almost stoic in its silence as it loomed over us. The more I examined it the more I realized just how _old_ it was. It practically radiated age, an ancient relic from a time long past and a people long gone.

Unless, of course, we found them in Atlantis.

Weir continued. "Now, every one of you volunteered for this mission-"

Well _that_ was debatable. Depending on how you defined 'volunteered'.

Maybe 'agreed' or 'accepted' was more appropriate in my case.

"You are the world's best and brightest."

Again, debatable.

"And in light of the adventure we are about to embark on, you are also the bravest."

I resisted scoffing at that. I was not brave. More like an idiot running head first into danger because they weren't sure what else to do.

"I hope we all return one day having discovered a whole new realm for humanity to explore, but as all of you know, we may never be able to return home."

My breath caught in my throat, every instinct telling me to run, to go home and never look back.

"I'd like to offer you all one last chance to withdraw your participation," Weir finished, looking around the room expectantly, her face absolutely neutral.

For several seconds I considered it, my heart beating wildly. Could I do it? Could I back out, go home and leave all of it behind? Would I regret it?

I glanced around, noting that I was not the only one looking at the faces of the people around me. People I didn't know, didn't trust.

Then my eyes landed on Lt. Ford, who stood directly across the room from me. His face was serious, but his eyes were alight with excitement, and judging from the way his finger was tapping against the weapon clipped to his vest, he was barely concealing his eagerness.

He caught my eye, lips quirking upwards and shooting me a wink.

I almost laughed, and my heart rate slowed.

Truth was, I probably wouldn't regret it if I backed out. But something deep inside kept my feet glued to the floor. Something made me want to stay.

Though I had no idea what.

After several moments of silence, Dr. Weir smiled and nodded appreciatively to the group before looking up at the control room with something akin to pride in her eyes. "Begin the dialing sequence."

She quickly rushed out of the room, and the air began to buzz with voices chattering in excitement as klaxons started blaring and the Stargate began to hiss and grind, inner ring rotating until one of the triangle shaped chevrons moved over one of the symbols, lighting up once it locked into place.

"Chevron one encoded," a voice said over the loudspeaker.

Then, just to my left, I heard Colonel Sumner speaking in a low voice to a man with spiky black hair who was doing a final check on his weapon. "Let me make myself clear, Major." The Major in question froze, his head shooting upright, though he didn't turn back to look at Sumner. "You are not here by my choice."

I snuck a peek at the two, and while I could barely see the side of the Major's face, the smirk that formed on his lip made it clear that he wasn't intimidated by the Colonel.

"I'm sure you'll warm up to me once you get to know me, sir."

I returned my gaze to the gate, torn between a frown and a smile. His response was respectful, if not for the tiniest hint of wry humor in his tone.

"Just as long as you remember who's giving the orders," Sumner said gruffly, passing the Major as he walked over to Ford's group of marines, who were busy double-checking their gear.

The Major waited a beat before responding. "That would be Dr. Weir, right?" He said innocently, no hint of an actual question in his tone.

I snuck another peek at the two, and judging by the glare Sumner was shooting at the Major — who merely responded with a cheeky grin — Sumner certainly lived up to the hard-nosed reputation Ford described.

After a moment Sumner looked away, and the moment his back was turned the Major rolled his eyes.

My stomach clenched. That couldn't be good.

Something told me the Major was going to be the cause of an awful lot of trouble.

I glanced around again, catching Cutshall's eye. He must've heard the whole thing as well, because he leaned closer and spoke in a low voice, answering my unasked question. "That's Major Sheppard. Last minute addition requested by Dr. Weir. Was stationed in McMurdo until Weir recruited him."

He pulled away and I nodded in thanks even though Cutshall's explanation left me with more questions than answers.

I decided it was better to go back to watching the gate. No point worrying about Sheppard now.

The gate continued to spin, a chevron lighting up with each heavy clunk that echoed through the room over the klaxons and general chatter. Chevron three… four… five… six… seven…

Eight.

With the sound of something between the rush of a train entering a subway station and a toilet flushing, the gate opened with what looked like a blast of water before settling into a rippling pool in the center of the gate.

That was it; I was looking at the door to the universe.

A round of cheers ran through the group, several of the scientists high-fiving in excitement. With a robotic hum, the MALP activated and rolled up the ramp until it had disappeared into the event horizon.

Several tense seconds followed before Colonel Sumner strode forward, three men — Bates, Stackhouse and Peterson — following closely behind. "Let's go, people. We don't know how much power we've got. Security teams One and Two, you're up first. All other personnel will follow on our signal. Once on the other side, keep moving, clear the debarkation area. On my lead…"

Dr. Weir cut him off, but I was too distracted to pay attention.

This was happening. _Really_ happening. There was no going back now.

With shaking fingers I readjusted my pack, running through a mental checklist in a desperate attempt to keep myself calm. Radio… headset… tac vest… weapon… I had everything. I knew I had everything.

There was nothing left to do but walk through the gate.

"Ready Lieutenant?" Smith asked, sidling up so that he and Cutshall were flanking me, and I gulped. Technically I outranked both men, but both surpassed me in age and experience — which could be awkward at best, problematic at worst, if Smith's terse smile was anything to go by.

I straightened up to my full height — all five foot four of me — and met his gaze with a challenging smile. No matter how I felt, I couldn't let anyone see my anxiety and self-consciousness. I may not have met a lot of trouble because of my gender in the past, but that didn't mean I could let my guard down. These were Marines, not the pilots in my squadron at Area 51. If I was going to make it I needed to blend in. No trouble, no problems. I couldn't give anyone a reason to doubt my capabilities.

Still, I told him the truth. "As I'll ever be, Sergeant," I said, hopefully sounding more confident than I did, hiding my trembling fingers in my pockets.

Smith's eyes followed the movement, and his smile, which had been at least an attempt at genuine, twisted into a smirk. "Glad to hear it."

I bit my tongue, spotting Ford and Sheppard climb up the ramp out of the corner of my eye. Without another word, I moved over to the bottom of the ramp. We were next in line — the final security team before all other personnel followed.

Ford and Sheppard were saying something to each other, Ford's expression unnervingly serious.

"Expedition team… move out," a voice said over the intercom.

Suddenly, Ford broke into a huge smile and gave a loud whoop before jumping backwards into the event horizon. A second later Sheppard followed, though he seemed to be bracing himself for something.

I chuckled quietly and shook my head. Ford really did behave like an overexcited puppy at times.

Still, seeing him act so casually eased the tension in my shoulders. Somehow, it made the prospect of stepping through an extremely powerful ancient piece of technology that I could scarcely understand seem a little less scary.

I stepped onto the ramp, Cutshall and Smith behind me, and cocked my weapon. For a half of a beat I hesitated as the last pieces of advice from my family and friends ran through my head.

" _Bills, survive. But more importantly, thrive."_

" _Don't sit in the grandstand, Billie. Take a swing, you might hit something."_

" _Be safe, Billie. And be brave."_

" _God built you to last Billie Simmons, and don't you forget it."_

" _Go. And don't look back."_

With a deep breath I stepped through the event horizon and into the unknown.


	4. And So It Begins

**So… it's been a while, huh? Sorry about that… it's not that I've forgotten this story — quite the opposite, actually. All I've been writing is this story (with the exception of the SG1 two-shot I posted a couple months ago)… just not in the right order. I've got several chapters for later in this story (as well as the later stories in this series) that are already completed as well as lots and lots of half-written bits and pieces and plots and such. It's all very messy.**

 **But, I promised myself I'd get the next chapter up before the end of the year and look at that! I have! Yay!**

 **Next goal: finish all of the _Rising_ chapters by the end of January.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you guys think! Feedback is awesome!**

—

" _And so the adventure begins."_ — Unknown

—

Traveling through the Stargate felt a bit like riding an underwater roller coaster.

It wasn't necessarily painful, but certainly was a shock to the system. It seemed to last forever yet take no time at all to step through the other side of the gate. I barely managed to keep from tripping or stumbling over my feet as I moved almost blindly, vertigo causing the world to spin dangerously. Two steps later, the feeling vanished, and I blinked, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling in my stomach as my eyes adjusted to the darkness around me.

Or maybe it wasn't so dark after all.

A series of lights came to life along the walls, and I immediately looked around, taking in my surroundings.

It was a large room — definitely bigger than the gateroom at the SGC, and much more pleasant looking. While the SGC rocked the "top secret military underground bunker" look, this had a more "modern minimalist" vibe.

Which, while accurate, probably sounded a bit pretentious.

But there was no doubting that it looked good. Beautiful, even. Marble and granite-like stones of varying shades of browns, blues and greens covered the entire room in patterns of geometric shapes, the finer detailing made from several different metals and crystals. Despite the darkness, the entire room had a very airy, open, almost relaxing feeling — as if the room was trying to tell you to kick your shoes off and call it a day.

I couldn't imagine what it'd feel like in daylight.

A large staircase stood just in front of the gate, leading up to a second level, which had balconies winding along the walls on either side. Beyond them were rooms that I couldn't make out. On the same level as the gate, two corridors led off in different directions on the left side of the gate, with the same reflected on the right.

"…secure the immediate area," Colonel Sumner was saying, the security teams immediately breaking up and beginning to explore the space, flashlights shining across every possible surface along the way.

Instantly, I checked myself. I had a job to do.

Readjusting my weapon against my shoulder, I passed Major Sheppard, who was standing in the middle of the room looking around in awe, and veered left and into the first corridor, indicating that Corporal Cutshall and Sergeant Smith should follow with a soft whistle and jerk of my head.

Smith practically glided on his feet as he passed me, not even bothering to check if I was okay with him taking point. I frowned, but didn't say anything. Not the moment for a battle of wills.

Cutshall took our six, looking around with an almost bored expression on his face, despite the tense line of his shoulders and slow, steady swivel of his head.

Lights flicked on as we began to explore the empty corridors. We hadn't gone far before we came to a door that was the same dark brown color of the walls, except for the two stained glass windows that sat at eye level. Smith passed it easily, but as I approached they slid open with a soft hiss of air.

"Wait," I whispered, stepping closer to the doorway and aiming my flashlight along the floor and walls, only for the lights to blink on a second later, revealing a small room that couldn't fit more than two or three people.

"What?" Smith asked, doubling back to see.

I felt my cheeks warm and shook my head. "Never mind. It's just a closet."

Smith looked as though he wanted to say something, but was cut off by the crackle of the radio. _"Security teams, any alien contact?"_ Sumner asked, his voice barely understandable through the background static of chatter and movement.

" _Negative, sir,"_ someone immediately replied.

I tapped my radio, eyes on Smith, silently daring him to speak first. "Team four, negative, Colonel." Smith just shook his head and continued on, and I repressed a victorious smile before following.

It's the little things.

The corridor twisted right, then widened to reveal a metal staircase leading downward. Smith looked back at me and pointed at it, eyebrows raised in a silent question. I nodded, and he immediately began climbing down the steps. I gestured for Cutshall to follow him, while I took over the rear.

I winced as their boots clanged against the metal grates of the stairs, which echoed loudly no matter how carefully they stepped. Just as I started to follow, I noticed a door open in the corner, revealing a narrow stairwell — which strangely stayed dark — leading upwards rather than downwards.

I hesitated, deciding whether or not I wanted to satisfy my curiosity and explore this new route or to follow my new teammates.

Or I could call them back…

I pushed the thought away. As much as I didn't want to be exploring a dark, unknown alien city by myself, I _really_ didn't want to be exploring it with Smith and Cutshall. Better to just send them on their way and let Smith boss Cutshall around. I'd stay close — never too far away to offer assistance if needed, but enough to avoid having to interact with them.

They probably wouldn't even notice I was gone anyway.

Quietly I took the stairs, heart hammering at my recklessness. It hadn't even been five minutes and I was already doing _exactly_ what got idiot nobody redshirts like me killed.

And yet I didn't stop. I _couldn't_ stop. I climbed the stairs two at a time, as if going faster would lessen the danger. Though after a single flight, the stairs came to a end, another door silently opening as I approached. I stepped through without thinking and found myself in a small corner of the gateroom's second level, judging my the soft reflecting blue light of the open wormhole against the walls. To my right stood a line of dark brown panels and one of the balconies that overlooked the Stargate. To my left was the top of the main staircase, and beyond that an area full of consoles that were already being examined by a handful of scientists.

I stepped out onto the balcony, looking down at all of the personnel and equipment below, people still popping out of the gate every few seconds. The room was filling up fast, but everything seemed to be going smoothly. Relatively speaking.

By the way Colonel Sumner was ordering personnel around, I figured he would rather be herding cats.

Finally, a single marine emerged from the event horizon and gave Sumner a thumbs up. Everyone was through.

Dr. Weir turned around and picked up her radio, her voice shaky with excitement as she spoke into it. "General O'Neill? Atlantis base offers greetings from the Pegasus Galaxy. You may cut power to the gate."

Something small came through the gate just before it powered down, slowly rolling on the floor until it came to a rest at Dr. Weir's feet. She picked it up and I realized it was a bottle of champagne.

Well then.

I looked around the room once more, suddenly much darker and more terrifying without the glow of the open gate.

Now we were all on our own.

00000000000000000000000000000000000

Once the gate shut down, things really began to kick into gear.

I'd spent weeks worrying about actually leaving Earth, and the giant unknown that awaited us that I'd never really thought about what I was going to do once I actually confronted it. And now I was confronting it.

It was a bit anti-climactic, really.

We were obviously in a base of some kind — it was too early to tell if it was actually a city — and according to several of the scientists it was definitely built by the Ancients. One had been going on about the symbols written in Ancient on the main staircase — a welcome and pledge of peace to visitors from other worlds — which was comforting in a way. It certainly sounded like the race of people I'd heard so much about in the "Beginners Guide to Ancient History" briefing at the SGC: an advanced civilization of more evolved humans who were champions of peace and free will among the 'lesser beings' of the Milky Way galaxy.

Although things could be drastically different in Pegasus.

But all signs pointed to us having actually found The Lost City of Atlantis. Which was great and all, if it hadn't been completely abandoned. Or so it seemed. That was the best case scenario.

I didn't want to think about the worst case.

Regardless, we wasted no time in beginning our exploration of the city. Sumner ordered the security teams to start clearing sections of the city, with teams of scientists following to make sure anything technological wasn't about to blow us all up.

Or something of the sort.

I'd been reunited with the lovely Sergeant Smith and Corporal Cutshall (they hadn't even noticed that I'd wandered off) and placed in charge of two scientists — a Canadian engineer named Dr. Tate and Dr. Valderrama, a Spanish physicist — who were practically wetting their pants in excitement.

Smith barely glanced at them before stomping off, heading up the nearest staircase, Cutshall at his heels. At least Cutshall had the decency to nod respectfully at the two scientists, though they were too distracted to notice. I had to grit my teeth because I'd been left behind to usher the scientists along by myself, mentally punching Smith's already squashed nose in revenge.

Tate and Valderrama chattered away as we walked, completely oblivious to my commands unless I waved my arm broadly in their field of vision first. After about five minutes of this, we entered a room much bigger than any we'd seen before.

The lights flicked on as we entered, revealing a room that was a large as the gate room — two levels high and its walls formed a large hexagon. Against five of the walls sat a mini-van sized oblong… thing, with a second one parked above each one on the second level. Ten total.

"They look like ships. Spaceships!" Tate exclaimed.

I walked around them, clearing the room quickly before taking a closer look. Could they really be _space_ ships?

They had to be — each one had a window that showed what looked like a cockpit and a small cabin behind it. I ran my fingers along its side as I walked around to the back, freezing when the hatchback opened, lowering to the ground to form a ramp.

"Whoa! How'd you do that?!" Valderrama asked, coming around the other side of the ship with Tate at his side.

"I have no idea," I said, looking back at the side where I'd run my fingers and wondering if there was a hidden button I'd accidentally pressed. Mentally, I chastised myself for making _another_ idiotic mistake — touching things before the scientists cleared it. They were the brains; it was best to let them use 'em.

Perhaps I needed a 'Rules of Gate Travel' list or something.

"D'you have the ATA gene?" Tate asked, bringing me out of my reverie as he walked up the ramp and into the back of the ship without hesitation.

Cautiously, I followed, taking every inch of the ship I could see, just waiting for something to jump out at us. "Yeah, I've got the gene."

Tate gasped. "That must be it! You probably have to have the gene to fly this thing. It makes sense, really… the perfect anti-theft protection…"

Valderrama nudged me from behind. "Go on then, see if you can fly it!"

I hesitated. "I dunno, we should probably keep going, make sure the rest of this level is secure…" I trailed off lamely. Truthfully, my fingers were itching to touch the controls, to see if it really worked. The prospect of actually getting to fly something hadn't even crossed my mind when I'd decided to join the expedition.

"Oh, come on. You're Air Force, aren't you? At least see if you can start it up!" Valderrama pleaded, nudging me again.

"Just because I'm Air Force doesn't mean I'm a pilot!" I protested.

Valderrama's expression was challenging. "Well, then what are you?"

My shoulders slumped. "A pilot," I grumbled.

Tate clapped his hands together cheerily. "Then what are you waiting for? It's a _spaceship_ , for cryin' out loud!"

For a moment alarm bells rang internally, reminding me that taking risks was more than a bit stupid at this point, but they were easily overpowered by the familiar tug in my gut that drew me to flying fighter jets in the first place.

And how often does one get the chance to fly a real _spaceship_ anyway? It'd be a shame to pass up that kind of opportunity.

"Fine," I huffed, pretending to be more reluctant than I was. I easily slid into the pilot's seat, eyeing the controls as I settled in. "You're also assuming that I can even figure out how to turn this thing on. I don't read Ancient, and these controls look nothing like what's on anything I've ever flown."

"Just think 'on.'" Valderrama slid into the co-pilot's chair with a giant grin on his face.

I stared at him. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"There's a mental component to some types of Ancient tech," Valderrama said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Didn't you go to the briefing?"

Did they mean the six hour one that required at least ten more years of education than I had and a dictionary to understand?

I bit my lip. "I must've missed that bit." I turned back to the controls and placed my hands on them. "Uh, on?" I said, and after nothing happened I glanced back at Valderrama and Tate.

"Concentrate," Tate encouraged. "Try closing your eyes or something."

I quirked an eyebrow at him, but did as he suggested, inhaling deeply and focusing on my hands linked to the ship. _*On.*_ I thought firmly. _*Turn on.*_

The controls suddenly warmed beneath my fingers and I felt a flash of something in my mind, but it was impossible to tell what it was. Tate and Valderrama gasped loudly, and I opened my eyes to see that the entire control panel had lit up, like everything else we'd encountered so far. "Whoa," I whispered.

If this is what having the ATA gene could do, then so far, joining the expedition was totally worth it.

"This is _so_ cool," Tate practically gushed. "Can you fly it?"

The alarm bells inside my head were ringing even louder than before. _Nope. Not a good idea. Quit while you're ahead, Billie._

I really needed to make up some rules for gate travel.

Reluctantly, I removed my hands and the lights switched off, the warmth in my fingers instantly dissipating and leaving me with goosebumps. "No, we need to keep moving. There are much more important things to worry about first before we start messing around with spaceships and such. We'll worry about flying it once you scientists have given them a once over and deemed them safe to fly," I said sternly, swiveling my chair around and standing up, ignoring the matching hurt and disappointed looks Tate and Valderrama were shooting me. "Come on, let's go. We'll report back to the higher ups with what we've found once we're done clearing the rest of this level."

Reluctantly, the two scientists followed, and I ran my fingers over the side of the ship again, thinking _*Close.*_ The hatchback began to shut and I smiled.

It _was_ pretty freakin' cool.

Maybe Atlantis wasn't so dangerous after all.

Suddenly, Sumner's voice crackled through the radio, and I felt my heart sink. _"All security teams, fall back to the gate room."_

Or not.

Let the adventures begin.

00000000000000000000000000000000000

The moment we returned to the gate room, Lieutenant Ford waved me into a nearby room, his expression grim. Leaving Tate and Valderrama to fend for themselves, I hurried over, where a handful of men — Ford, standing next to Lieutenant Miller and Sergeants Bates, Smith, Parker and the very young looking Stackhouse and Markham — were gathered around a box of weaponry tucked safely in a corner near the door. "What's up?" I asked Ford, stomach churning.

"The city is underwater and the shield is failing."

So it really was the city of Atlantis. I glanced around with a new sense of wonder. It was hard to believe… wait. Did he just say _underwater?_

I snapped my attention back to the Colonel, who had just walked up. "We don't have the power we need to keep the shield running, so we're going offworld to procure another power source or find safe harbor," Colonel Sumner said. "Lieutenant Miller, you're in command," he said, addressing a slim blonde airman who looked a bit like a Ken doll. Miller nodded curtly in response and moved off to talk to Corporal Cutshall, who was sulking in the corner — though I couldn't tell whether he was upset about being left behind or if sulking was just his normal state.

"Gear up, we're leaving in two minutes." Sumner eyed us all critically, his gaze lingering on me a beat longer than the others.

I straightened and nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Yes, sir," I said with as much strength as I could muster, shoving down the ever-increasing feeling of panic that was building in my chest. Without responding, Sumner readjusted his cap and turned away to give Miller last minute instructions.

Whistling softly, I caught Ford's eye, who merely shrugged and held out a couple of spare clips. I took them and stuffed them into the pocket in my tac vest that was the least packed with supplies.

"Simmons," a gruff voice said, and I turned to see Sergeant Smith holding out a pair of infrared goggles. I took them with a nod and watched as Bates handed Smith and a bewildered Stackhouse a couple of bazookas.

I quirked my eyebrow. "Bazookas? Really?"

Ford chuckled. "Better to be safe than sorry, Simmons."

"Time's up. Let's get a move on," Sumner called from the doorway, and I fell in line as he led the way to the gate, ending up in the rear next to Parker.

Parker was slightly taller than Smith, although much leaner and significantly more laid back. I'd had several pleasant, albeit short, conversations with him at the SGC. He smiled politely as I fell into step beside him. "Lieutenant," he said with a light accent that I couldn't place. I made a mental note to ask him about it when we returned.

 _If_ we returned.

The gate was open when we entered the room, and I forced myself not to gape at it as we approached. It was hard not to, the gate was beautiful — it didn't look like Earth's gate, more like a different, almost newer, model. It just didn't _feel_ as ancient as the Earth gate did.

We came to a stop just before the event horizon, and I noticed Peter Grodin standing next to Sumner, fingers tapping away on a device in his hands. "The MALP reads full viability and no immediate signs of activity around the Stargate, but it's pitch black." Without a word I pulled out the infrared goggles Smith had given me and put them on while Grodin continued. "For now, we're going to use the tried and true system for identification of inbound gate travelers," he said, passing around the GDOs we'd been taught to use at the SGC.

I snickered to myself as I strapped it around my wrist. The fact that GDO stood for Garage Door Opener still cracked me up.

"Let's move out!" Sumner called. I looked up to see that Major Sheppard had joined us, much to Sumner's obvious displeasure.

Grodin caught my eye as I moved to follow the others through the gate. "Good luck," he said sincerely.

"Thanks," I replied, heart thumping as I slid my goggles on and braced myself before stepping through the event horizon.

We were probably going to need it.


End file.
